


Marshmallow Fluff

by Gumnut



Series: Gentle Rain [5]
Category: Thunderbirds
Genre: F/M, Fluff, Romance, silliness
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-09
Updated: 2019-04-09
Packaged: 2020-01-07 08:58:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,179
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18407354
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Gumnut/pseuds/Gumnut
Summary: Scott and Em total fluff. Pretty much what it says on the tin.





	Marshmallow Fluff

**Author's Note:**

> Okay, this happened in chat and distracted me from my current Virgil!whump fic (which I will return to now this is done :D). I have had some requests for happy fic recently, so have some Scott and Em total fluff.  
> This came from a discussion about Australian and American foods with @the-lady-razorsharp Figures Scott and Em would stumble across such things :D

“What the bloody hell do you think you’re doing? You’re not actually going to eat that are you?”

Scott looked up at her, spooning the last of the Marshmallow Fluff onto his peanut butter sandwich. “Yeah. Of course I am.”

“Scott Tracy, there is enough sugar in that concoction to feed a small nation.”

“Well, yeah, I’m a growing boy.” Smart ass grin as he grabbed a marshmallow and, with a toothpick, speared it onto the top of the sandwich.

Em reached over and nabbed the plate out from under his nose.

“I swear there are some laws of physics that forbid the combination of these ingredients.”

He nabbed his plate back and picking the sandwich up, took a massive bite. Spitting crumbs, “Yeah, well, there should be some law against distilling a yeast extract out the beer making process and spreading it on bread, as well.”

“Hah! There is nothing wrong with a good Vegemite sandwich. You just need to know how to spread it.”

“Tastes like something brewed went bad.”

She smirked. “It’s an acquired cuisine.”

“Yeah, acquired taste bud deficiency.” He took another bite.

She reached over to the bowl in front of him and picked up a nice round, nicely icing-sugar-dusted marshmallow. “Oh, really.” Her eyes targeted him and he froze. What?

With perfect aim, she lobbed the mallow and it hit him squarely in the middle of his forehead.

A squawk and he nearly choked on his sandwich. Mouth still full. “Oh, so is that a challenge?”

Em leant forward. “No, Mr Tracy, that is a promise.” And she smeared peanut butter onto the end of his nose.

Scott raised an eyebrow and calmly put the remains of his sandwich down on his plate.

As Em burst into a grin, he reached over for a marshmallow of his own and held it up in front of his face, eyeing her, then eyeing the confectionery in his fingers. “Doctor Harris, are you aware of who exactly you have issued a challenge to?”

“Oh, I have a good idea, Mr Tracy.” Her grin fought to be a laugh.

“I am Scott Tracy, eldest of five brothers, king of the Tracy pile, veteran of many a brotherly tussle, many a food fight and champion of the pillow war.” A smart ass smile. “And survivor of Gordon Tracy.”

Em arched an eyebrow. “Really?”

“Yes, really.”

“Well, I have one thing you do not.”

“And what exactly is that?”

“Hoverjets.” And with that, she spun about and tore out of the room at high speed.

-o-o-o-

She cracked up laughing as she barrelled out onto the patio passing a baffled Virgil, and an amused Gordon, before buzzing onto the pool deck. Behind her there was a clatter of a discarded chair as Scott yelled her name in outrage.

“Something wrong, Commander Tracy?” She laughed as he loped out of the kitchen. “Having trouble keeping up?”

The expression on his face as he barged out onto the deck was worth photography…and she did exactly that, grabbing her phone and snapping a good one as he stalked her.

“Doctor Harris, you are asking for it.”

“I am?” She couldn’t help herself, she giggled. “And what exactly am I asking for, Mr Tracy?” She shot sideways and around the pool, keeping the water between them.

“Oh, I’m sure I can come up with something suitable.”

“Ooh, so many promises, Mr Tracy. Sure you can follow through?” She was vaguely aware of both Virgil and Gordon staring like stunned mullets at the pair of them from the front of the house.

His grin grew feral. “Very sure.”

“Then come and get me, flyboy.” She darted inside at high speed, dodging Alan, who had likely been called by Gordon, nabbed the bowl of marshmallows and flew up the stairs. Skipping the elevator, she tore up the backup stairs, shooting through the main part of the house and out the back. A split second decision, and she threw herself up the stairs to the roundhouse.

Her hoverjets whined as she pushed them to the limit, looking behind to see if he was following.

There was no sign of him.

Partly triumphant, partly worried he wasn’t following, she executed her plan anyway and darted into the roundhouse through the backdoor.

And straight into his arms.

She yelped as he cackled, holding her tighter. “So, Doctor Harris, where were we?”

She let herself go limp. “Hmm, where would you like us to be?” A pair of dipped eyelashes, curved lips as she purposefully put on a suggestive smirk, and he was staring at her.

Just long enough for her to yank the neck of his shirt and dump the marshmallows down his front.

A yelp and he let go. She took the opportunity and buzzed off across the room and around the curve of the gallery.

Far above, paintings hung on the walls. Some were obviously family members, others landscapes, the occasional abstract. A frown. She had never noticed them before, far more attracted to the scenery through the windows.

“They’re Virgil’s.” And he was standing behind her. She darted away, but he didn’t try to catch her, just eyed her with a smile. “Oh, don’t worry, Doctor Harris, I can bide my time.” Icing sugar was all over his shirt and pants and a trail of marshmallows followed him on the floor.

She bit her lip. “So you plan to terrorise me with possibilities, Mr Tracy?”

“Oh, most definitely…Emaline.” His eyes fixed on her, fully armed, blue and alluring. He walked slowly towards her and she felt like a deer in headlights.

“Really, Scott?” But it was breathy and half-hearted. She let him approach. Let him take her in his arms. His face hovered in front of hers, his breath gentle on her skin, those eyes staring at her, suggesting, tempting…

His hands slipped around her sides, his fingers brushing gently against her ribs…

And he was tickling her!

She squawked and squirmed, but he held on and tortured her mercilessly. One of the side effects of her injury was the lack of sensitivity in her lower extremities had to some extent increased her sensitivities elsewhere. And she hadn’t told him that yet.

“Oh god, Scott! You shit!”

“Doctor Harris.” And he was laughing, still attacking her mercilessly. “You did ask for it.”

Defence wasn’t working, so she shifted to offence, firing up her jets to push herself forward to reach his own sensitive areas.

“Oh, no you don’t, Doctor.” He grabbed her wrists and they found themselves at a stalemate.

“So, now what do we do, Mr Tracy?” She couldn’t help the grin curling her lips.

“Oh, I don’t know.” But he pulled her gently towards him. He purposefully didn’t obstruct her ‘scoot controls on her palms. Ever the gentleman was Scott Tracy. The brief thought distracted her enough to find herself wrapped in those strong and warm arms once more. “But I can think of a few things.” His lips caught hers and the tussle was forgotten.

Along with everything else.

-o-o-o-

 


End file.
